The parents returned well after two o'clock in the morning to find me slumped where I had fallen several hours earlier; I had earned the sleep, especially under the circumstances that I endured. Having baby-sat for over seven hours, on which I had not counted, I felt that my brush with insanity would be buffered by a "substantial" payment. The husband handed me some tightly folded bills and two quarters as I stepped into the night air, and by the feel of the wad, I trusted his integrity and believed that my effort might have been worthwhile, indeed. The "going rate" was at least 75 cents per hour, with the rate increasing to $l.00 or $l.50 for every hour past midnight. I calculated in my mind as I paced toward my house, knowing that I had been gone seven and a half hours, and turned the bills over in my hand with anticipation. "A five and maybe a couple of ones. . ." a thought echoed. I opened the door and entered, removed my shoes, and went into the kitchen to see what the light would reveal. Unrolling the bills reverently, I straightened them one by one and put them on the table. One, two, three, four dollars. . . and fifty cents. I stared silently at the bills, recalling that my minimum payment should have been $5.75. I felt used and cheated, and frankly, quite insulted. My mom, too, was angry and said I should protest my under-payment, but I was afraid to call "grown-ups" and let the matter drop. The following week I received a phone call from the mother, requesting that I baby-sit some night that week. I had not honestly let the matter drop, for it had festered in my mind since its occurrence, and bid me forego further assignments with that family. "No," I replied. A hush ensued, urging me to explain. "I won't... I can't handle your kids." In a diminutive tone, the woman acknowledged my statement and said good-bye; by her response I somehow felt she had just experienced de ja vu. In certain respects, I pitied her, and in others, I pitied the children. The latter would one day rise to discover the world was greater than mother's protective and generous arms could encompass. Perhaps the former would one day wonder why she had treated "no" like a word from a foreign language.